TELEPHONE LAMENT

We’re on the dial system now,

Some folks may think it’s fine,

But, bless my bones, I miss those phones On the old-time party line.

That old crank-handle box that hung, Complete with bells, and all,

By the Credit Union office door,

Or the farmhouse kitchen wall.

When Central rang at one A. M.

It put us in a tizzy;

No busy sign came through that line,

But, brother, it was busy!

You’d jangle up the Co-Op store,

And you’d hear a mad voice say:

“Quick! Send out somethin’ for ’tater bugs- ,I‘m pickin' 'em off all day"!

Or— “Hello, Owen, how‘s she goin’?

You corn is growin’ finel”

That’s some of the stuff we used to hear On the old-time party line.

That telephone was meat and drink

To poor old Auntie Jane.

She never missed one single ring,

ln spite of her gosh-darn cane!

Her jaw shook with the palsy, too—

She was nearly eighty-nine—

She skinned her chin from listening in

On the old-time party line!

“What’s that you say?” yells Silas Jones. He’s phoning Uncle Jeff;

Both of ’em yelling mighty loud—-

Both of ’em mighty deaf!

“Ye say that Bob’s son, Howe, got killed—(7 “Flyin’ — and hit a jet . . . 7”

“Naw! Said that Robson’s cow got chilled! “He’s tryin' to reach the Vet!"

Your old car needs a set of points,

But you just can’t get through;

Some woman’s on: “Ooh — have you heard?” “Don't tell that I told you!”

Or —— “Heard the dope on Faye and Jim?” “Yeah, her mom wrote to mine.”

Now it’s obsolete but what could beat That old—time party line.

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